When was the last time so much warmth could be found in so many people
complaining about the chill? The characters in Colder Than Here are all
unduly sensitive to temperature, and remark on it often; a malfunctioning
boiler is even a source of untold frustration, and they're constantly
searching for a bit more heat. But it's not winter that's making their
teeth ratting, it's the looming prospect of the eternal coldness of
mortality.

They shouldn't worry. Though death hangs like a specter over every moment
of the MCC Theater production of Laura Wade's play, the coolness in evidence
all seems externally applied. The story centers on a British family facing
the loss of its matriarch to bone cancer, and is about the legacies we leave
behind us; few plays about settling affairs before the end have the
delicately unassuming and reassuring nature of this one, and it resonates as
richly as a crystal goblet when tapped.

But how cold that crystal is to the touch. It's not always easy to
reconcile Wade's play with what's onstage at the Lucille Lortel, and
pinpointing problems - to the extent there are problems - is no simple task.
Director Abigail Morris, who helmed the play's London premiere earlier this
year, provides an intelligent, well-judged interpretation inspired by the
waning seasons in nature. Jeff Cowie's quietly attractive set and Michael
Chybowski's sensitive lighting pick up on this, depicting the family's
Leamington Spa home in ways both autumnal and wintry. The actors, led by
Judith Light as the matriarch Myra and Brian Murray as her husband Alec, are
established, gifted artists.

It's just that so little of Wade's gentle heat is allowed to escape from the
stage. That this isn't fatal to the production is a tribute to the
impressive talent of everyone involved; that it happens at all is cause for
some concern. The answer might be simple chemistry; it's easy to stir
together all the right theatrical elements and not get an optimum reaction.
Or, perhaps more time and agitation are all that's really required for the
results to achieve full simmer.

But it's difficult to know what to say about a production in which Murray is
miscast. While he most popularly thrives in the complex worlds of Albee and
Shakespeare, he generally seems able to play anything. But as Alec, he's
allowed few opportunities to engage his dry, intricate sense of humor, and
must keep his usually vaunted theatricality firmly in check. This play
needs small more than it needs big, and Murray - for his many virtues - is
better at finding the small in the big than the big in the small. His is an
accomplished, professional, but lackluster performance.

Better are Lily Rabe and Sarah Paulson as Myra and Alec's daughters: Though
full-fledged adults approaching 30 as the play begins, they both have
growing up to do, and much to learn about the benefits and boundaries of
long-lasting love. In particular, Rabe's character Jenna is caught in a
go-nowhere relationship with a go-nowhere guy, but doesn't trust in her own
ability to find or deserve better, and it's not until she learns what's
really important that she finally figures out where (and how) to look.

If this sounds fairly conventional, it is; if you think you know where this
leads, you probably do. But Wade's not striving for innovation; she wants
us to look at what we know and what we fear in new ways. She achieves that
in the character of Myra, a woman who has so dedicated her life to
supporting and acting as caretaker for her family that even in her final
months, she must run the show.

She develops a PowerPoint presentation on the desired details of her
funeral, and even goes to the trouble of ordering her cardboard coffin
herself. Myra's inability to let go, and its deleterious effects on her
family is representative of their life together - she's so accustomed to
providing that she leaves them no chance to grow, to come into their own.
Only by doing so can she find peace, and can they grow to feel the warmth
that, for too many years, has been smothered.

It's a powerful message, detachedly but effectively presented by Light, who
only falters in the final scenes, when she doesn't do enough to communicate
Myra's realization about her behavior and the subsequent actions she takes
as a result. There are any number of pleasing subtleties, many of them
humorous, to Light's performance, but more conviction in the final scenes
better convey the effects of Myra's choices on her husband, her daughters,
and herself.

Quibbles like these, though, don't distract from Wade's fine, unadorned
writing, or Morris's thoughtful direction. If the result is still a nice
production of a beautiful little play, one can't help but feel that the work
has been slightly diminished by forces beyond its control. Compared to the
recently opened Fran's Bed, James Lapine's messier play on a similar
subject, it burns especially brightly, but it should be allowed to generate
more of its own heat than this correct - but frigid - MCC production allows.